


Return

by Yods



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternative Ending S01E09, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Identity Reveal, Major character death - Freeform, Resurrection, Strong Language, magic happens, post Age of Ultron
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-07-27 04:27:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7603339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yods/pseuds/Yods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The confrontation between Matt and Nobu does not go as in canon.  Foggy does not find the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen bleeding in Matt’s apartment.  Instead Matt just disappears.  Foggy and Karen are at a loss.  But this is a comic book universe, after all.  Anything can happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Departure

It’s quiet around the office. Foggy spent the morning calling funeral homes and the church, making arrangements for Helena. Karen is silently sorting some paperwork that had been stacking up. He knows that she feels guilty about encouraging Helena to stay and fight. He does too. It didn’t really seem like talking about it would help. Besides, he’s busy. Who knew so much work was caused by someone dying?

Karen leant over his desk and handed him a cup of coffee. “Did Matt say anything about not coming in today?”

Foggy frowned, distracted. “Matt’s not here?” He looked over to Matt’s office. It was empty. Karen gave him a significant look. He sighed and picked up his phone again. Matt didn’t answer. Typical.

He squashed a trickle of worry. “He probably just overslept or something.” Foggy ignored Karen’s wide-eyed look and got back to work. After a while he tried Matt’s number again. No answer. He slammed the phone down. Karen was watching him from her desk, alarmed.

He shuffled the documents on his desk. After the events of yesterday he couldn’t help drawing the worst possible conclusions. He banished the mental image of Helena on the slab at the morgue. “I’m going over to Matt’s.” 

Foggy got up and his phone started ringing. He snatched at it so quickly he fumbled and almost dropped it on the floor. Once he actually managed to get a hold of it he answered breathlessly. It was the funeral home. 

He was debating just hanging up and going over to Matt’s when Karen interrupted. “Take care of that. I’ll go to Matt’s apartment.”

It was a very tedious twenty minutes going over the arrangements for Helena. And then that was done and he sat behind his desk, fidgeting. When Karen called he took a deep breath first before answering. And immediately knew that something was going on. Her voice was high and tight.

“Foggy?”

“Did you find Matt?”

“No. I’m in his apartment. The landlord let me in. Something’s wrong, Foggy.”

He mentally retreated from this comment. “What do you mean?”

“It looks like… The lamp’s knocked over, and the door’s broken. One of the steps is smashed.” She sniffed. He knew her well enough by now to be able to tell by her voice that she was on the verge of crying. “It looks like…”

 _It looks like there was a struggle, and Matt’s not there._ Foggy was at a loss. Matt was usually the one who kept calm during emergencies and knew what to do.

Which means he’s going to have to find someone else.

“Call Brett. Officer Mahoney. I’m on my way.”

  


\+ +

  


It takes him so long to find a cab that Brett’s already there by the time he gets to the apartment. They might not get along but he knew he was a good guy, at least.

Brett and Karen are both standing outside the apartment. There’s crime scene tape across the door. That was fast.

Karen is talking to Brett and hasn’t noticed him, yet. “I thought you had to wait twenty four hours before you could declare someone missing.”

“That’s a myth.” Brett sees him coming up the stairs and nods in his direction. “Nelson.”

Foggy nods, out of breath.

“Miss Page says you saw Murdock last night and he didn’t show up for work this morning.”

Foggy nods again. “I came to his apartment on my way home from Josie’s, but he didn’t open up. At the time I figured he was probably asleep, but…” _But he was probably already gone by then. Already needed help then, and he didn’t realise._ Foggy swallowed.

One of the officers inside Matt’s apartment calls Brett over and they have muted conversation. Brett looks very serious when he gets back.

“You two should go home, or back to the office. There’s still a lot to be done here. I’ll…”

Foggy wasn’t having any of that. “I’m not leaving. I want to know what’s going on. You have to tell me what’s going on.” He knew that his voice cracked. That Brett must have heard. It didn’t matter.

Brett didn’t seem to want to make eye-contact. “There’s nothing I can tell you, yet.” He hesitates, glances back at the apartment. “The tech guys found some traces of blood. It’s too soon to know what that might mean. I’ll _tell_ you when we know something, but standing around here isn’t going to help. Go home, Nelson.”

Foggy wanders off with Karen. She doesn’t say anything. Signs of a struggle and traces of blood. It could mean that he’d been attacked. That he was hurt. That he’d been kidnapped. That he was… No. That wasn’t an option.

Karen is pale and grim as they wait for a cab. “It’s my fault.”

“What?” He definitely didn’t see that coming.

“It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have gotten you two involved in the Union Allied thing, and now…” She’s crying, angry. 

“We don’t know what’s happened.” He said, more sharply then he’d intended. “And it’s not your fault, no matter what. Matt’s stubborn enough to decide for himself what he does.”

Karen leans against his shoulder and he puts an arm around her waist. They’re still standing like that when the cab arrives. Foggy’s halfway home when he realises that he still needs to finish the arrangement for Helena. It’s simultaneously surreal and too close for comfort considering the circumstances.

  


\+ +

  


The next day the quiet at the office is oppressive. No matter what he does, Matt’s vacant desk keeps on drawing his eye, and every time he looks at it his chest tightens. He can’t concentrate on any of the work he’s supposed to be doing. Karen keeps on looking at the door as though she expects Matt to come walking in. Maybe he will. Maybe he went on a bender because of Helena and he’ll show up in a couple of hours in a filthy mood. And he and Karen will give him the scolding of his life and then everything will be OK. Foggy finds himself staring at the door, time and time again.

He almost has a heart attack when the door finally opens, but it’s just Brett. He jumps up. _Oh, shit. It’s Brett._

Brett must notice the disappointment turning to anxiety when he comes in. He sighs. “I said I’ll tell you when anything happens…”

They stare at him. Brett fiddles with his cap. He looks guilty.

“There’s nothing. No-one saw anything. No-one heard anything. No-one suspects anything. Thinking seems to be that either he just _left_ , in which case looking for him isn’t police business, or he’s…” He won’t make eye-contact. “Uhm... And there’s no pressing reason to look for him. There’s no evidence either way.”

Foggy doesn’t get angry often. But he’s angry now. “You investigate _one day_ and then decide there’s no point?” He jabs Brett in the chest, aware people have been arrested for less. “He could be in trouble, he could be hurt somewhere and you’re just not looking!” 

Matt could be hurt somewhere. He could be _afraid_. That was in itself almost unimaginable. Matt always managed to seem dignified, controlled. He’d absorbed some kind of ‘never show weakness’ bullshit from somewhere and made it part of himself. He never asked for help, not even when he really needed it. Especially not when he really needed it. And now he absolutely needed help and _no-one was doing anything._

Brett definitely looks ashamed. “I didn’t say _I’m_ not looking. But it’s not my case and they don’t seem to see this as a priority.” He must see Foggy’s expression when he adds. “But I’m looking. I promise. I’m sorry, Foggy.”

He doesn’t think Brett’s ever called him by his first name before. Foggy tries not to think about what it means. Tries not to think about what it means that he’s apologising. He doesn’t want to face the pity in Brett’s expression. He addresses the floor. “Thanks, Brett.”

The door opens and closes and it’s just the two of them again. Foggy just stands there. Karen hesitates behind him, and then puts a hand on his shoulder. He pulls away, and then grimaces. “Sorry”

She shrugs. “What are you thinking?”

“Bruises”

Karen raises her eyebrows questioningly.

“Matt’s been showing up with bruises and vague excuses for a while now, and I just didn’t think about it. He never used to be clumsy. What if he was in some kind of trouble and we just didn’t notice?” 

Or maybe he’d had a mental breakdown and was now hiding somewhere. Matt always was too tightly wound. But he didn’t want to say that to Karen. Either way, he hadn’t noticed. “What kind of a shitty friend am I?” He starts to pack his bag.

“I don’t think anyone could ask for a better friend, Foggy.” Karen’s voice is gentle. “Where are you going?”

“For a walk. I’m going to look..” He shrugged helplessly. 

Karen gets her coat. “I’ll come with you.”

  


\+ +

  


Foggy is exhausted and his feet hurt. He couldn’t bring himself to call Matt’s name in the streets as though he were looking for a lost dog, but he and Karen had been walking all night all the same. It wasn’t really very efficient. He should at least have a picture or something, so they could show people and ask if they’d seen him. How did the police do this?

Karen trips on a crack in the sidewalk and he catches her before she can fall. She’s still wearing her heels from the office. Her feet must _really_ hurt, but she hasn't said a word.

“We should go home.”

She looks over at him. “Are you sure?”

Foggy just nods. They’re not getting anywhere. And there’s always tomorrow. And the day after.

He goes out looking every night. And he never finds a damn thing.

Four days after Matt went missing Brett calls him. Apparently Matt’s neighbour heard arguments leading to some kind of struggle, but this was _weeks_ ago. What kind of person hears violence coming from a blind man’s apartment and doesn’t do anything? What kind of person hears violence coming from _anywhere_ and doesn’t do anything?

  


\+ +

  


By the end of the week Foggy’s completely drained. Going out every night and spending every day in a state of constant anxiety. He didn’t know what to do. He had to find Matt. Matt would know what to do, he thinks nonsensically. At some point he will have to tell his parents what was going on, but he couldn’t face doing it. Especially considering he’d long suspected that his mom liked Matt better. He’d teased him with that a couple of times, but instead of getting annoyed he’d only ever seemed embarrassedly pleased by the idea. Maybe he was, considering his lack of family. Maybe he just wanted to belong somewhere. Foggy wipes his face

Belonging. That gave him an idea. Matt had taken him to mass with him a couple of times. He always ended up getting antsy and bored and Matt got irritated with him. He never really saw the appeal, but he figured it was probably good for Matt to have someone to talk to, considering he never really talked to anyone else about what bothered him.

The ethics of interrogating someone’s priest to find out what was going on with them was questionable, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

  


\+ +

  


It didn’t take him long to get to the church ones he’s made the decision. Inside it’s quiet. There are a couple of people sitting in the pews, each stuck alone in their own bubble of misery. Foggy hesitates in the back of the church. How to go about finding the priest? He walks down the side and finds an alcove filled with candles. The wall behind the candles is blackened with soot.

“Can I help you?”

Foggy startles to hard he bumps into the table and narrowly avoids the flames with the edge of his jacket. The headline ‘Heathen burns to death in church’ flashes into his mind.

The suit and serious expression behind him tells him he’s found the right person. “I… uhm…“

How to approach this conversation? Just asking him to tell him what he and Matt talked about in confidence probably wouldn’t go well.

“I’m looking for a friend.”

The priest raises his eyebrows and Foggy interjects before he can reply.

“Not in general. Someone specific.”

There was a flash of amusement in his face. “How can I help you with that?”

“I… He’s been missing for a week now. Just didn’t show up at work one day. And the police aren’t doing anything. I know he comes here sometimes and…” Foggy’s voice has been getting steadily higher. He swallows and tries again. “I’m just really worried. And I thought if Matt was in some kind of trouble, you’d know.”

The priest definitely responds to Matt’s name. Foggy doesn’t say anything. Gives him time to decide what to say.

“Matthew came to talk to me a couple of times. We had… philosophical discussions about the nature of good and evil.”

That sounds like Matt. “That’s it? That’s pretty vague.”

“I am not going to tell you about what we talked about in confession.”

Well yes, there were rules about that sort of thing. “Just tell me something more than some ‘theoretical conversation’. Please?” The begging tone in his voice doesn’t even bother him.

The priest hesitated. “You say he’s been missing for a week.”

Foggy nods miserably. “I’ve _never_ not heard of Matt for a week.”

Father Lantom closed his eyes for a moment, it seemed like he’d come to a conclusion he didn’t like. “They weren’t theoretical conversations.”

“What?”

“I don’t think Matthew was being theoretical when he talked about evil.” He speaks carefully. “I think he was troubled and working himself up to doing something… unwise.”

What the hell does _that_ mean? What was going _on_ with Matt? He’d always tended to keep his issues to himself, but this goes a good deal beyond that. But the priest wasn’t finished. “And if he’s been missing for a week he’s probably gone.”

“No. No, that’s not acceptable.” Foggy turned on his heel and marches out of the church.

  


  


  


  


  



	2. Gone

Foggy keeps on going out every night until he falls asleep in the office and Karen drags him home. When he wakes up his apartment smells of soup and fresh toast. He stumbles blearily over to the kitchen. “What’s going on?”

Karen has her hair back in a ponytail, but reflexively motions to push her hair out of her face all the same. “When is the last time you actually ate something?”

“I don't know. It doesn’t matter. Besides, I can do with losing a couple of pounds.”

She huffs at him. “You need to eat, Foggy. And you need to sleep. You look like shit.”

He drops himself onto the couch. “Well aren’t you sweet.”

She hands him a mug of soup and sits on the coffee table across from him. “Take a day off. Watch TV. Get some sleep.” 

He leans back and looks away. 

“And take a shower.”

That was probably a good point. “I have to _do_ something, Karen. I have to. I don’t know how…” He gestured uselessly. “I don’t know how to deal with this. There can’t just be _nothing_.”

Karen scoots across and sits down next to him. Takes his arm. “I don’t know either, Foggy. I don’t know how to help Matt, and I don’t know how to help _you_. You have to take care of yourself. Please.” It takes a while before he realises that she’s crying.

  


\+ +

  


After that he doesn’t go out every night anymore. At least not _all_ night. After a while he gets Karen and Brett to help him hang up missing posters. He’s sure that Matt would hate having his face plastered all over town, but he doesn’t know what else to do. Scouring the streets isn’t working.

Once every so often he meets up with Brett who tells him what progress he’s made in finding him. It’s usually not much, but it’s a relief that someone else is looking. Often their conversations wander over into other cases, old grudges, the mischief their parents are up to. Foggy gets the impression Brett is trying to distract him. He’s simultaneously grateful and hates him for it.

One evening Brett walks in, just raises a finger for a beer and glowers at the bar. This is concerning. He is always unfailingly polite to Josie. Foggy waits until he has a drink in hand before approaching the topic. “You OK?”

Brett gathers himself and looks up. “Thanks Josie.”

She just glares at him and turns away, tossing the dirty dishrag over her shoulder.

Only now does he glance over to Foggy. “There’s an almighty shitstorm brewing at the precinct. You’ll read about it in the papers tomorrow.”

“This about Fisk?”

Brett flinched. Without really discussing it they’d both steered clear of topics involving the increasing corruption in the police force and elsewhere – how Fisk’s influence was growing. There was nothing anyone could do about that. He shook his head. “We got the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Or we think we do. Anyone can wear a black outfit, but it’s probably him.”

“That’s good, right?”

Brett didn’t say anything for a long time. “I was never completely sure that he was who we were supposed to be focussing on. All we’ve really got on him is vigilantism. And considering the state of the police department at the moment that might not be such a bad thing.” He keeps his voice low. “I will deny saying any of this.” He stares at his glass. “Besides, everyone is so… delighted he’s dead that no-one is particularly interested in finding out who killed him.”

Foggy stirred his drink. “He’s dead? Karen will be upset.”

“Oh, he’s long dead. Someone made sure about that. And I mean _very_ sure, he had a… unpleasant time of it. Beaten, stabbed, shot, a couple of serious burns.”

Foggy shudders slightly. “Jesus. What killed him?”

“Drowning.” Brett snorted. “Fucking Rasputin.” He noticed Foggy’s expression. “Hey, I read.”

“Anyway, the body’s been in the water so long there’s no way to identify him. Apart from dental, and DNA. And then we’d need something to compare it to.” 

They both stared at their drinks. 

Matt and Karen didn’t think the man in the mask was a bad guy. Apparently neither did Brett. And now he was dead. The world seemed to be getting darker day by day.

  


\+ +

  


Peaches or nectarines? He decided he didn’t really care and got bananas instead. Karen had bullied him into going grocery shopping because his kitchen was empty, but he found he didn’t really care about that either. He’d taken to working _very_ long hours to tire himself out so he could at least sleep at night. Otherwise he’d sit around at home thinking and he didn’t want to deal with that. Going to the office felt pointless but at least Karen was there.

While he’s paying he stares at the wall with posters. Missing cat, guitar lessons, house cleaning job wanted… Nothing out of the ordinary.

Nothing out of the ordinary. Foggy blinks. Every now and again he’d see a slim stranger with dark hair, or hear a tapping, just out of range, and his heart would jump and he’d turn and it was never Matt. _Never Matt._ And most of the posters he’d put up were faded and torn and washed out, but when he came to the grocery store he’d look up and see Matt’s face and every time his breath was knocked out of him.

But the poster was gone.

He had trouble breathing all the same. “Could you call the manager for me, please?”

The girl behind the till looks wide-eyed at his expression but makes a call.

  


He might have flown into a rage. He might have shouted. He might have thrown fruit, while the pimply-faced manager stammered about policy. When he finally marched home without his groceries he realised he could probably be arrested for the tantrum he’d just had, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

  


\+ +

  


There was a woman standing at the grave.

There had been some very definite grumbling from the congregation when he’d claimed the body, but no-one could exactly complain about the idea of giving someone a decent Catholic burial. The grave was unmarked – no-one officially knew the name after all – but people still came, all the same.

He’d taken to keeping an eye out because there were troublemakers keen to make their mark on the devil’s grave. He’d called the police when someone damaged the stone, but they weren’t particularly concerned. Any rubbish that ended up being thrown there he cleaned up himself.

But there were other visitors, as well. People who came and just quietly stood there a while before leaving. He liked to think they were people who he’d saved, come to thank him.

She was still standing there. He headed to the graveyard to talk to her, but when she realised she’d been seen she turned to leave. Her gaze must have fallen on the grave next to the devil’s. He knew what it said. ‘ _Jack Murdock, A Good Man_ ’, and the dates. She paused.

“How can I help you, child?”

Her eyes were bloodshot. She’d been crying, but she wasn’t anymore. She nodded at Matthew’s grave. “Who picked the plot?”

He knew what she was asking. “I did.”

She managed a smile. “Thank you, Father.”

There was no need to say any more. They both stood there for a while before she walked away.

  


\+ +

  


Foggy stood in the middle of Matt’s apartment and wondered what to do. There was quite a lot that needed to be organised, he knew that. Karen came out of his bedroom, carrying a newly packed box.

“Do you think we should give some of his stuff away?”

“No!” 

He shouldn’t be snapping at Karen. A couple of days ago Brett had suggested that he should have Matt officially declared dead – that it would make the paperwork around the office easier. He’d snapped at him, too.

Foggy stamped off the pack things up in the kitchen. He’d had to field increasingly frequent calls from Matt’s landlord. There was no way he could keep up payments on the apartment, and the landlord obviously wasn’t willing to let it stand empty, no matter how much Foggy tried to persuade him. And now they were packing up all of Matt’s stuff to put into storage. This was going to take him a long time considering every item he picked up to put away curled a knot in his throat. It was a good thing Karen was around to be practical at him. She dropped another box in the living room.

“It’s a good thing Matt was so organised.” She froze when she realised what she’d said. _Was_. They’d both skirted around that word, around that thought, like the elephant dropping in the middle of the room that it was. It was steadily getting more difficult to ignore. Foggy carefully steadied his breath. He could hear Karen sniff behind him. 

  


They’d almost packed everything when Karen exclaimed from the living room. “I think I found the keys to that lock on the cabinet… thing.” 

When he came in from the bathroom she was dragging a chest out into the open and flipped it open. “It’s just old boxing gear. Why would Matt even have that?”

“Leave that alone.” His voice was too sharp. Again.

She closed it carefully and gave him a questioning look.

“I… I’ll show you something when were done here.”

  


Once they’d packed everything there was still some time before the van came to take it to storage. The apartment was bare and dusty. There was nothing left. All that Matt used to be was a gloomy pile of boxes on the floor. He needed to get out of there. “Let’s go for a walk.”

They wandered around for a while. Foggy had gotten used to going for long walks, but he had a goal in mind now. Karen followed him into Fogwell’s without really paying attention to where they were going, and stopped short when she noticed what kind of place it was.

“What are we doing here?” She followed his gaze to a yellowed poster on the wall. _Murdock vs. Creel._ She frowned. “Is that...?”

Foggy smiled with second-hand pride. “Yeah, that’s Matt’s dad. Matt practically grew up here.” The gym reeked of stale sweat. There were a couple of guys working the patched-up bags, and a frightening-looking man and his trainer were up in the ring. No-one paid any attention to them.

Karen folded her arms around herself. “I have trouble imagining Matt in this kind of place.”

“Doesn't seem to fit, does it? He still comes here, though, whenever he has a bad day. After his dad died, I mean. He was sent to Saint Agnes after that.“

Karen shook her head. “Was this before or after the accident?”

“I think a year or so after. He doesn’t really talk about it much. I always kinda thought it was amazing how… comparatively well-adjusted he is considering how shitty his childhood was.”

She gave him a sidelong grin. “Comparatively?”

Foggy just shrugged and changed the subject. “You know, before I met Matt it never really occurred to me that you could make a living being a boxer.” He huffed. “And now I know you can’t. Not really.”

She gave him a rueful look and glanced back at the poster. “He must have been pretty good. I’ve actually heard of Creel. And I don’t follow boxing.”

“This was when Creel was just starting to really make a name for himself. Jack Murdock won that match.” Foggy can vividly picture the way Matt smiled when he talked about his father. Pride and regret. “And that night he got shot in the head in an alley on the way home. They never caught the guy.” Karen didn’t say what he was thinking. That they were never going to know what happened with Matt, either. But now at least she will have more of an idea of what Matt really was like.

She took his arm as they turned to go back to the apartment. “Thank you.”

  


  



	3. Calm

The morning was bright and crisp as Foggy walked to the office. There were birds chirping. It had been a while since he had noticed something like that. He stopped to get coffee and muffins for him and Karen. The girl behind the counter smiled at him and he found himself smiling back without thinking about it. He didn’t remember seeing her there before. Foggy hummed to himself as he crossed the road.

It had been difficult to get this far. To get to the point that the cold dread of _something’s happened to Matt, where’s Matt?_ wasn’t the only thing he felt. It wouldn’t do him any good to keep on wondering what had happened, what secrets Matt was keeping. The priest had said that he was troubled. That he might have done something drastic. Later visits didn’t make it any more explicit than that. So what did it mean? That Matt might have hurt himself? Foggy flinched at the thought. That didn’t seem likely. But didn’t people always say that they never saw it coming? Things had been going well, weren’t they? Well, sort of. OK, not really.  
And what did that have to do with the bruises? With sounds of a fight coming from Matt’s apartment? Was someone hurting him? He wasn’t seeing anyone, as far as he knew. Apart from the mysterious Hottie McBurnerphone. Who never even showed up when Matt went missing. Was he in some kind of trouble? It would explain why he didn’t call the police after getting beaten up. But what kind of trouble could Mr Ethics himself possibly have been in? Or did it involve his filthy temper?

Foggy shook his head to dislodge the train of thought. It was a good day. Things were going well. Focus on the bright morning and the warmth of the sun on his back and the smell of fresh coffee and muffins. A good day.

His mood falters momentarily when he got the office and couldn’t help looking at Matt’s empty desk, the discarded Braille reader still in the exact same place where he had left it. Matt’s office was bare and getting dusty – the rest of the office was becoming increasingly cluttered. They had to do something about that.

That dip doesn’t last long though. The firm is doing well – too well in fact - and he’s insanely busy. He doesn't have to go looking for distraction anymore. Foggy is slightly frazzled by the time they pause to eat lunch at conference room table. His hair is starting to hang into his face. He should have it cut. Karen flicked on the news. There was the usual mix of politics and foreign drama. They both ignore it.

Karen is yet again trying to deflect Foggy’s attempts at starting up a firm softball team when she yelps at the screen. “Look at this, Foggy.” She turns the screen – they have the sound off – and the banners proclaim some kind of hostage situation at the G20 summit conference. They’re holding the presidents hostage.”

He waved a half-eaten muffin at her. “The presi _dents_? Plural?”

“Yes. Pretty much all of them.”

“How the hell would you even manage that?”

Karen shrugged at him and turns the sound on. A newsreader prattles for a moment before live footage starts streaming. A grainy image appears on the screen. A lone man is pacing and talking to himself, wildly waving a gun in one hand. Nervous looking men in suits sitting very still behind him. The sound is quality bad and it’s hard to make out what he’s rambling about. 

“…no, I have to get them back. This… is for the ones who didn’t make it. The special ones. Who sacrificed and lost. That’s what it’s for. This will work.”

He raised a clenched fist, the gun hanging loosely at his side. He sways on the spot, face slack.

The newsreader’s voice overlays the broadcast, talking about SWAT teams and drones and snipers. The image flickers and blurs.

The hostage taker’s raised arm trembles and he clutches it to his chest, muttering. “See me, see me, see me. See this.” He giggles hysterically. “There has to… has to be a sacrifice.” He raises the gun in the direction of the sea of dignitaries behind him. “I’m sorry. _See this._ I’m s…”

A shot rings out and he crumples. The image flickers again and is replaced by some standard text about technical difficulties. Foggy grips the edge of the desk. He feels dizzy.

The feed flashes back on. “… is secure. SWAT is moving in. There are report of…” Foggy reaches over and switches the damn thing off. He hadn’t particularly wanted to see someone die on live TV today. Or any day, for that matter.

Karen stood up and smoothed out her dress. “Well that was disturbing. Let’s get back to work.”

  


\+ +

  


The next day they don’t watch the news during lunch. Foggy wasn’t in the mood for death and spectacle. Karen goes to get a sandwich and he takes a walk instead. He does that a lot, but there are worse habits. He’d stopped the late-night walks after getting mugged a second time, but this worked as well. He’s seen more of the city in the last two months than he did his entire childhood living here.

They work late that day. OK, they work late pretty much every day. Foggy knew he was turning into one of those workaholics who have a hernia and a heart attack before even reaching forty. That was OK. He felt bad for Karen, though. He was pretty sure the only reason she stayed in the office that late was to keep him company and to make sure he actually ended up going home, and he wasn’t exactly the best company lately.

He looked at where she sits in the glow of her desk-lamp. She squints intently at the document in front of her and tucks her hair behind her ear before scribbling something in the margin. She would be annoyed if he told her how sweet she looked. “You should go home.”

She frowns at being interrupted. “Go home and do what?”

“I don’t know. Whatever the cool cats are doing these days. Tap dance? Competitive tickling? Make a collage? I’m pretty sure you actually have a life outside this office.”

Karen gives him a sad look but doesn’t respond to that.

He tries a different tack. “Why don’t we go watch a movie or something?”

She considers him for a moment. “I’ve been meaning to watch Jurassic World.”

“We could do that.”

  


When they get to Karen’s apartment she goes to rummage for snacks while Foggy fiddles with the TV. It switches on to late-night news and he keeps watching despite himself. He catches the tail end of a discussion of how on earth it was possible that a guy who had a nervous breakdown after he lost his family managed to take the G20 hostage on his own. Sokovian Special Forces or not, there was no way one guy should be able to pull that off on his own. There were rumblings about conspiracy theories. A set-up by the Russians, or the Republicans, or ISIS. This segued into a comment about how apparently a royal guard somewhere in Africa woke up on the autopsy table earlier that day. Someone made a shitty joke about how _those people_ don’t even know how to tell if someone is dead or not. Foggy pulled a face.

Karen dumped a bowel of chips next to him and takes over the remote to switch to Netflix. He takes a handful of chips and sits back. This was going to be good. The movie was ripe to be mocked and he had quite a few terrible puns prepared.

  


\+ +

  


The next afternoon as he was walking back to the office from the courthouse there was far-off rumbling in the sky. Foggy paused and looked around. It was clear, so no thunder, and it had been a while since there had been an Ironman sighting.

But it wasn’t Ironman. A jet of some kind screamed past, heading from Avengers Tower out towards the sea. One the down side – no Ironman. On the up-side – all the buildings were still standing. He wondered what drama was brewing now. The Avengers had been quiet lately.

When he got back to the office Karen had tidied up again and there was actually space to put his bag down. A fresh cup of coffee and the files for his next case were waiting on his desk.

He grinned at her as he took off his scarf. “Can I afford to give you a raise?”

“You can’t afford me in the first place.” She took another bite of her sandwich and grinned back.

“Have you heard about something being up with the Avengers?”

“Mmm?” She brushed some break crumbs off her desk. No wonder they had rats. “There was something in the news about Quicksilver.”

“I thought he was dead.”

She shrugged as Foggy went over to his desk. “Who even knows with them.”

  


\+ +

  


That evening they went to meet Brett at Josie’s instead of working late. Josie blinks for a moment at seeing the three of them together and seems even more grouchy than usual. Brett and Karen used to be a bit offish around each other, but that had dissolved a while ago in favour of bitter competition at the pool table. Foggy guarded their drinks in pointed silence. This was serious stuff – he’d been told off for distracting them before.

Karen sank the final ball and fist-pumped the sky triumphantly. “There. I told you.”

Brett grudgingly went for his wallet and handed over a twenty. “Unbelievable.”

Foggy face-palmed. “You two are terrible. Come finish your drinks.”

Karen scooted up next to him and downed her drink in one movement. Pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. “Pay no attention to Brett. He’s a sore loser.”

Brett sniffed at his glass. “I’m not the one being obnoxious.” He smiled at Karen and she beamed back at him.

Foggy rolled his eyes. “Now, children.”

It didn’t take very long before they all started squabbling. The problem was that Brett absolutely insisted that _Voyager_ was the best series. The worst was that Karen even seemed to agree with him. And that couldn’t stand. 

“The original series is clearly the best. The other series are just distillations of the best parts.”

“Yes well it clearly needed distillation.” 

Karen was vigorous in her defence of _Voyager_ before veering off into _Deep Space Nine_. Neither he nor Brett could argue the there. 

Foggy finished his beer and tried to avoid feeling guilty. He was having fun. Matt always avoided getting drawn into any Star Trek related arguments and pretended he didn’t watch it, but Foggy was secretly sure that he actually preferred Picard and had tried to trick him into admitting that more than a few times before Matt had declared their dorm room a Star Trek-free zone.

Brett’s phone rang and he stepped out for a moment to answer. He looked distinctly disgusted when he got back. He was good at those looks.

Karen almost laughed at his face. “What’s going on?”

Brett grabbed his jacket and scowled. “I have to go.”

“I thought you were off-duty.” Foggy waved his hand vaguely at the glasses on the table. “Hence the drinking.”

“I am. But there’s _another_ disturbance at the cemetery.”

“You get a lot of those?”

“Since the man in the mask was buried?” Brett rolled his eyes. “I’m probably going to have to send away another off-duty cop for pissing on his grave.”

Foggy pulled a face. So maybe he wasn’t a fan like Karen, and apparently Brett was, but messing with someone’s grave was definitely on the wrong side of any ethical debate.

Brett gave them a half-salute. “See you guys,” and walked out.

Karen manages to talk him into playing pool with her, but it doesn’t take very long for her to inevitable trounce him. She gloats as he buys the next round. He had to find something he can beat her in – she was a terrible winner. They should try Scrabble next time they stayed in. She goes home shortly after, sailing happily out the door.

Foggy hangs around for a while, nursing his drink, and then walks home the long way round.

  


  


  


  



	4. Arrival

It was raining steadily by the time Foggy got to his apartment. He was cold and wet from the walk and was looking forward to a warm shower and just going to bed. When he opens the door it is strangely cool in his apartment. The curtains in the living room flapped wetly. _Shit_. The window was open. He must have forgotten, and it rained in. It looked as though his carpet was ruined. And what was that _smell_. 

He flicked on the lights and managed to pull the swollen window shut. What he was going to do about the carpet? Would his bottom neighbours have water damage too? They already hated him. Then Foggy was distracted by a thump and a whimper behind him. He spun around. There was a guy – absolutely filthy, head to toe, and probably the source of the truly horrendous smell – wedged in between the end of the couch and the lamp. Completely curled in on himself and shaking and twitching.

Great. He leaves the window open _one time_ and he gets a smelly, high, homeless guy. At least he didn’t seem dangerous. At least not to anyone other than himself. 

“Hey, dude?”

The guy looks up, glassy eyed, and Foggy feels the familiar painful wrench in his chest he gets every time someone reminds him of Matt for even a moment.

And then everything stops. It was Matt. It was impossible, but it was _Matt_. Foggy backs away, shocked, trips backward over the coffee table and fall in a pile up against the wall. He gets back up immediately. Matt was still there. Matt was _right there_. Filthy and terrified, but alive. He didn’t dare take his eyes off him for a moment.

Matt was soaking wet and shivering. Well, that was one thing that he could take care of. He snagged a blanket off the couch without looking away and carefully approached, blanket held out in front of him. He’s reminded of the time he used a tea towel to pin an errant bird in his kitchen so he could get it outside. The difference being that college wrestling matches had taught him that if Matt flipped out there was no way that he was going to be able to pin him, and considering the way he was hyperventilating right now it didn’t seem like an unlikely result.

As he gets closer Matt frantically tries to get away from him, but he’s already backed up against the wall. He flails wildly on the spot and manages to knock the lamp over.

“It’s OK, buddy. It’s OK.” Which probably doesn’t sound very convincing considering Foggy’s sobbing so hard he can’t get any other words out, but he has to try. When he gets close enough to drop the blanket over Matt he stops struggling and just curls up tighter against himself, his face pressed against his knees, still trembling and twitching at random intervals. 

Foggy sits down warily next to him and tries to adjust the blanket, but Matt stiffens when he touches him, his breath speeding up even more.

“Come on, Matt, it’s just me.” He puts his hand on Matt’s shoulder but he just tucks closer in on himself with a sound almost like a small whine. When he slips his arm around his shoulder he can feel the cold and damp through the blanket. Matt flinches and jerks away, his breath catching with a whimper. He goes limp.

Foggy holds on to him so he doesn’t tip over. Matt’s head lolled onto his chest. He uses the opportunity to wrap the blanket around him properly, rubs his arms to try to warm him up. The damp seeped through the blanket. And underneath that was the warmth of a body. Solid. Warm. _Real_.

After a moment Matt starts shaking again. Grunts and twitches and tries to pull away from him. The idea that Matt is frightened of him freezes him in place. “Matt, come on buddy. It’s just me. You’re OK.”

He stops struggling, still panting as if he were being chased. Turns his face toward him and his eyes track frantically, as though he were desperately trying to see him. His breath is rank.

“F… foggy?”

Foggy sobs. “Yeah, buddy. I’m right here.”

Matt collapses into him, pressing his head against his chest. Foggy ignores whatever it is that he smears from his hair into his shirt. It doesn’t matter. The smell doesn’t matter. Matt may still be shivering and panting but he was _right here_ and he wasn’t going to let anything happen to him. Foggy tightens his arms around him, “You’re OK. You’re going to be OK.” Matt’s breathing shuddered. The damp soaks into Foggy’s shirt. He didn’t care. And gradually Matt’s breathing slowed down and he fell asleep.

Foggy sits there, just holding him. His back starts to ache and his ass becomes numb and it _doesn’t matter_. He carefully tries to rub some warmth back into Matt’s arms. He was still periodically shivering, even in his sleep. Keeping one arm wrapped around Matt, _because he was_ not _letting go_ , he fishes his phone from his pocket. No answer. He tries again.

There is some disgusted grumbling over the phone. “What?”

“Karen, Matt’s here.” He keeps his voice low.

It’s quiet for a moment. Then Karen sighs. “Foggy, that’s not… What time is it?”

“I don't know. Look, I’m not crazy, OK? He’s here. He’s filthy, and something’s… wrong, but he’s here. Please come over.”

Another sigh. “I’m on my way.” He can hear the pity in her voice. It didn’t matter. She would see, soon enough. He tosses his phone onto the couch.

Matt mumbles under his breath and goes from sleep to panicked awareness almost instantly. He jerks away. Foggy loosens his grip so Matt won’t have to fight him.

“Matt! Matt, calm down, it’s OK.”

“Foggy”

It was a statement this time, not a question. Matt slumps against the wall and tries to pull the blanket closer around him.

“You still cold buddy?” 

Matt just grunted.

Foggy tried to rub some warmth into his back but Matt twitches at the touch. What to do? How to help him?

“Maybe you’ll feel better if you take a shower. I’ll get you some dry clothes.” And maybe that would get rid of that horrifying smell and whatever dreck Matt was covered in, but he wasn’t going to say that. 

Matt shifts on the spot and nodded weakly. “That’s… probably a good idea.” He sounded exhausted. But that was a whole full sentence. Progress.

Foggy ended up helping Matt upright and guiding him over to the bathroom with the blanket still around his shoulders. Matt moved stiffly and barely kept to his feet. Foggy positioned him next to the tub and starts the shower. He feels for the temperature and looks at Matt, who is standing there looking dazed. He was going to have to leave him alone and shut the door so he could shower, but he was completely unprepared to let him out of his sight. Matt sticks out his arm to feel the water and almost overbalances. Foggy has to keep himself from grabbing him. Dirt and slime and God-knows-what from his hand and sleeve runs down the drain. Matt shudders.

“OK. I’m going to get you some dry clothes. Just leave what you’re wearing on the hamper and I’ll..” Double bag it and toss it in the incinerator. “… take care of it.”

Foggy backs out of the room and leaves the door ajar. He can’t see inside but he can hear Matt moving around. That’s going to have to be good enough for now. He gets sweatpants and a sweater from his bedroom. It wouldn’t really fit Matt, but at least it was warm and soft. 

He also get a clean shirt for himself. When he pulls off the shirt he’s wearing he is very careful not to let the smear of… something… touch his face. His stomach objects at the proximity.

Next, the living room. He cracks all the windows to let the smell escape and scrubs the corner where Matt had been sitting with bleach. He belatedly realised that this probably isn’t very good for the carpet, but that was ruined anyway. Every couple of seconds he pauses and listens for the sound of movement from the bathroom. He was still there.

The sound of someone knocking on the door catches him by surprise. When he opens Karen stares at the scrubbing brush and rubber gloves.

She steps inside. “What are you.. What’s that smell?”

“I don’t think I actually want to know.”

Karen follows him to the kitchen as he goes to toss the gloves and brush in the sink. He ignores her to listen for movement from the bathroom. For a moment he only hears water running and he stiffens in horror. He can’t help but droop in relief when the moment starts up again.

Karen is looking at him in concern. “So..?”

“Did you say something? Sorry, I wasn’t listening.”

She shakes her head. “Who is in the bathroom?”

“I told you…”

“Foggy, come on.” She leans in and puts her hand on his chest, which would be nice under any other circumstances, but he’s distracted. The shower stops running. He turns away from her and heads for the living room.

Karen trails after him. “Foggy…”

The bathroom door opens and he stops breathing. Matt shuffled stiffly into the living room, clothes hanging loosely off him. Foggy let out a shuddering breath. It was real. He was really back. It wasn’t wishful thinking. He wasn’t going crazy.

Karen gasps and when he looks at her she’s just standing there, mouth open, eyes wide. Her arm is still stretched out to him, but she’s not looking at _him_ anymore.

“Matt” He doesn't seem to hear her, just stands there looking confused. When Karen rushes forward into a hug he flinches back, but doesn’t react apart from that. She sobs into his neck and he just sways on the spot, eventually vaguely patting her on the back. 

Foggy gasped. Matt’s hand is covered in blood – it smears off on Karen’s sweater. He taps her on the shoulder and she turns to stare at him. He puts his arm around her but addresses Matt.

“What happened to your hands?”

Matt frowns at him. “What?” His voice is still rough. Karen turns to look. He feels her stiffen as she notices.

“Your hands are bleeding. Doesn’t that hurt?”

He just shrugs, sounding dazed. “Everything hurts.”

That was disturbing. “Why don’t you go sit down.” He indicates to the couch, like an idiot. Matt doesn’t respond to that. Karen eventually guides him to the couch and Foggy fetches a basin of lukewarm water from the kitchen and deposits it on the coffee table. He sits down next to Matt and taps him on the back of the hand to get his attention.

“Give your hands here.” He rinses off the blood. Matt’s fingernails are torn and broken, a few are _torn off_. There are deep scratches on his hands. Foggy shudders. Matt leans against him, his eyes drooping shut.

“Karen, there’s a first-aid kit under my bed. Can you go get it?”

She immediately jumps up and rushed off. When she gets back she drops the kit next to him and hesitates next to him, her hands fluttering. “His back is bleeding too.”

“Shit” Foggy leans back to look. There’s a stripe of blood soaking through the back of his shirt. He makes eye-contact with Karen, and she looks about as horrified as he feels. 

“Let’s… let’s deal with his hands first.”

Karen goes to sit across from him and they start to bandage Matt’s ravaged fingers. He stops. “I think this one is broken.” He bends the finger and instantly regrets it. That’s definitely broken. Matt doesn’t react, apart from blinking blearily. “We should get you to the hospital.” Karen nods rapidly.

Matt grunts. “I want to stay here.”

“Matt…”

His voice gets a bit higher. “I don't want to leave.”

Foggy looks helplessly at Karen. “OK”

They wrap up his hands as best they can. Matt pulls the bloodied shirt over his head. There’s a deep gash running from his shoulder over the curve of his back. It probably needs stitches. 

Karen gapes, and stammers when Foggy notices. “I… I didn’t realise he was in such good shape.”

What? “Focus, Karen. Injuries!”

“Right, sorry.”

They stick gauze and bandages across the cut on his back. It seems rather pointless, but at least he’s not actively bleeding anymore. “Any other injuries we need to know about?”

Matt shrugs. “ ’m tired.” He leans into Foggy and Foggy reflexively puts an arm around his shoulders. Karen smiles at the picture they make.

Foggy takes a sip from one of the glasses of water that appeared on the table at some point. He needed to give Karen more credit.

“You thirsty, Matt?”

He shakes his head.

Foggy rolls his eyes and taps a glass against the back of Matt’s hand. Between the bandages and faint trembling he has trouble holding it. Eventually Matt takes the glass in both hands but still manages to spill half the water over himself. He grumbles and wipes at his face.

Right, he was tired. And Matt wasn’t the only one. 

Karen led Matt to the bedroom while Foggy listlessly tidied up. When he’s done he snags a cushion from the couch and heads to the bedroom. Matt’s already asleep, curled up on his side. Karen is hovering next to the bed.

Foggy drops the cushion on the floor next to be bed and sits down. Karen frowns at him.

“You’re going to sit there and watch him sleep.”

“Yes.”

“That’s an excellent idea.”

She disappears for a moment and comes back with a cushion of her own, and settles next to him.

They watch the rise and fall of Matt’s chest. He frowns in his sleep. Karen settles her head on Foggy’s shoulder.

“What do you think happened to him?”

Foggy just shakes his head. “This is a miracle, right? I mean, I’m not an expert in these matters, but it has to be.”

Karen is warm against his side. “I’m pretty sure this counts.”

  


  


  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before posting this I just briefly checked what the American version of Dettol was. Turns out it doesn't exist.  
> So Matt's injuries were just washed off with water.


	5. Back

Foggy jolts awake to sudden violence and scrabbling and an almighty crash from the doorway. His knee inexplicably hurts. Karen gets up, rubbing her hip. “What the hell?”

They are interrupted by the sound of retching and dry-heaving. Karen and Foggy glance at each other. The toilet flushes. Foggy walks out into the hall the same time Matt leaves the bathroom. His heart skips a beat to see him. Matt’s torso is covered in scratches.

“Matt, what’s going on?”

He grimaces and wipes his face. “Ugh” Matt heads to the kitchen and pauses when they start to follow him. He’s still moving stiffly.

“Are you two OK? I think I tripped over you.” He’s sounding a lot more coherent.

Karen rubs her hip. “A bit bruised. We shouldn’t have been sitting on the floor.”

“Sorry”

Matt pours himself a some water with slow movements, and then almost drops the glass. “Ow,” he says weakly. He sounds surprised.

“You OK, buddy?” Foggy is aware that all he and Karen have been doing since Matt got back was stare at him in concern. That wasn’t going to stop anytime soon.

Matt frowns, puzzled. “I think a hurt my hand when I fell.”

“Let me see.” Matt holds out his hand with the broken finger like a small child presenting an injury. It doesn’t look any different, maybe a bit swollen, but he’s quite prepared to believe that it hurts. “We should probably let a doctor take a look at that.”

Matt grunts noncommittally and wanders off.

“Where are you going?”

“To get a shirt so I can go to the ER,” Matt calls back to him. 

He comes back wearing Foggy’s Columbia hoody, which was probably the oldest piece of clothing he owns. It’s strangely endearing.

“Good thinking. Come on, let’s go.”

They’re all quiet in the cab to the hospital. Matt looks like he’s on the verge of falling asleep again. Foggy and Karen are still exchanging concerned looks. What on earth was going on with him? What was going on with any of this?

When they get to the hospital Matt is shuffling, barely awake. Karen fills in forms at the desk while Foggy guides him in, Matt’s uninjured, _comparatively uninjured,_ hand a welcome warmth on his elbow. There’s a crash of something being dropped down the corridor to their right. He can distantly hear someone telling a nurse off.

 

At the hospital it’s mostly waiting. Waiting for X-ray. Waiting for anaesthetic to kick in. Waiting for the cast to dry. All three of them are drifting uncomfortably off by turns while they sit there.

Once the doctor is ready to put stitches in Matt’s back they refuse to let the two of them go in with him. Matt seems somewhat relieved by this. Foggy reminds himself to cut back on the fussing before Matt gets irritated with him. He sits back down to wait with Karen and dozes off.

When Matt comes out of the treatment room he is wide-awake and furious.

“What’s going on.”

“Nothing.”

Foggy nudges him with his foot. “Try again.”

He pulls a face. “They wanted to know if you were hurting me.”

Foggy stills. He wants to laugh it off but to an outsider it would seem like a reasonable question, particularly considering the state Matt was in. “What did you say?”

Matt rolls his eyes. “I said you were a very scary man and you said to tell people you were always nice to me if anyone ever asked.” 

Foggy choked. “Ass,” he said fondly.

Matt grinned at him. It was almost worth being accused of domestic abuse to see Matt smile again. 

“Can we just go home now?” He follows this up with an enormous yawn. Foggy huffed. Matt had truly horrendous morning breath. 

It was the early hours of the morning, and none of them had really gotten any rest. “Yeah, let’s go back. I think we can all do with some sleep.”

  


\+ +

  


When Foggy wakes up he has a crick in his neck and is fuzzily confused to find himself sleeping on the couch. Karen is sitting across from him, wide-awake and fiddling with her phone. She smiles when she sees he’s awake.  
“I’ve manage to cancel your meetings for today, there’s just…”

“What?” The event of the previous night catch up with him and he goes from blurry half-awareness to completely alert. He almost overbalances as he jerks from the couch and goes over to his bedroom. Matt’s still there, asleep. _Matt’s still there._ He stands there for long enough to be sure that he’s breathing, and then just keeps standing there. Karen comes up behind him. They watch in silence for a while. 

“While you were asleep I kept coming here to check that it was real.” She nudges him. “Come on, let’s get some breakfast.”

“More like brunch. Or elevenses.” Foggy stretched and rubbed his neck.

“ _Food_ , Foggy. I’m hungry, you probably are too.”

This gets his attention. Get with being a good host, Nelson. “Right, breakfast. Bacon and eggs sound good?”

Karen nodded and they left Matt to sleep in peace for a while. Once the smell of frying bacon started to fill the apartment he realised he really was hungry. They’d just started eating when Matt shuffled in. Everything stops for a moment. He is still moving slowly and over-carefully, although that could just be to do with that he was disoriented and didn’t have his cane.

Matt must feel their attention. “Morning.” he mumbles, looking uncomfortable. He raised his arm as if to fiddle with his glasses, but then drops it, fingers flexing uncertainly. 

Foggy makes a mental note to go to the storage facility to get some of his stuff. Matt never liked being without his glasses, and he seemed very exposed now. “We’re having breakfast. Come join us.” He taps the back of a free chair and stands up to head to the kitchen. “What would you like?”

Matt visibly hones in on the sound and comes over to rest his hands on the chair-back, swaying slightly. “Mmm. I’m not really hungry.”

Foggy grabs a yogurt-cup from the fridge and drops it in front of Matt, who awkwardly shifted the chair to sit down. He reaches out to the sound of something in front of him and knocks against the cup with the back of his fingers. “What’s this?”

“Yogurt.” Foggy propels a spoon across the table. “Have some.”

It doesn’t take much for Matt to look irritated at the moment. He huffs. “I said I’m not hungry.”

Foggy rolls his eyes and tells him so. “Don’t be difficult. As long as you’re under my roof you’ll eat what I put in front of you.”

Matt huffs again, sagging in his chair. He looks exhausted. “Yes, Mom.” He fumbles at the cup with bandaged hands but he can’t get the foil top off and eventually just gives up. He glares in Foggy’s direction. A look that clearly says: ‘You want me to eat the damn thing, _you_ open it.’.

Foggy expression in response quite eloquent: ‘If you want my help you have to ask for it.’. It is a pity his look is completely lost on Matt.

Karen sighs heavily and opens the yogurt. “You two are both terrible.”

Matt listlessly eats about half of it – he has trouble handling the spoon – and then migrates to the living room while Foggy tidies up the plates. By the time they are done cleaning up Matt has tipped over on the couch and is fast asleep again.

  


\+ +

  


Karen and Foggy are both sitting quietly, reading in the living room. Neither is really willing to let Matt out of their sight, and they don't want to wake him up. Karen is deeply engrossed in whatever she had found in his bookcase.

Matt grumbles and stretches before sitting up, grimacing vaguely. His hair is in a truly horrific state. Karen sniffs back a laugh.

“I’d forgotten the glorious levels of bed-head that you can achieve, buddy.”

Matt scowls at him and pointlessly runs a hand through his hair, not quite managing to hide his smile. Then he grimaces again and the smile drops. He gets up very suddenly and stumbles to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Foggy stands up in alarm. “Matt?”

The sound of vomiting comes from behind the door, followed by muffled cursing. “Do you have a spare toothbrush I can use?” Matt sounds wretched.

“Cabinet under the sink.”

Foggy wanders back to the living room and looks at Karen. Neither of them is willing to ask the obvious question. _What was wrong with him?_ Instead Karen went for practical matters.

“You still have court this afternoon.”

“Crap. You couldn’t get me out of that?”

She shakes her head. “Sorry.”

Matt comes back and slowly lowers himself onto the couch. It hasn’t escaped Foggy that he moves like an old man. At least he’d fixed his hair.

“There’s a glass of water on the coffee table.”

Matt humms at him and reaches for the glass. “When are you going to court?”

“At three” Karen says, simultaneously with Foggy’s: “I’m not going.”

Matt frowns. “You have to go to court.”

Foggy is unmoved. “I’m staying right here.”

“Foggy” Matt stares severely just behind his left ear.

“I’m not leaving.” Matt isn’t the only one who could be stubborn.

Karen isn’t messing around. “It’s an arraignment. You have to be there and it will be done quickly. Matt’s going to fall asleep again any moment anyway. I’ll stay here”

“What?” Matt blinks rapidly. “No I’m not.” He yawns. “OK, yes, probably.”

Matt is fast asleep again by the time he leaves. Which is worrying. Very worrying. So worrying that he isn’t going to think about it at all.

  


\+ +

  


As Karen predicted work at court is over quickly. The case isn’t particularly complicated. Make a deal, plead no-contest, go home. His client, Peterson, keeps on trying to thank him, but he’s not really paying attention.

“…So what do you think about the shit that’s happening in the news?”

Foggy shakes his head, distracted. “I haven’t really been following the news. Had some… personal affairs to take care of.”

“Are you kidding me?! This isn’t just some random events. _The very nature of life itself has changed_ ,” he says pompously, as though quoting someone.

Foggy gives him a quizzical look. “What are you talking about?”

“The dead are coming back to life, man.”

Oh great, he’s a crank. “I’m pretty sure I would have noticed if the zombie apocalypse happened.” 

“It’s not like that.” Peterson pauses, as if something just occurred to him. “At least, not as far as anyone knows. …Yet.” His previous excitement about the subject appears to have dissipated. “It’s just a few people, so far. But it’s world-wide. Literally every country in the world has reported a couple of cases.” He frowns, definitely worried now.

There is a solid lump forming in the pit of Foggy’s stomach. He really doesn’t like this. It comes far too close to all the other things he’s trying so hard not to think about. He excuses himself and heads to the storage unit to get some of Matt’s stuff.

  


\+ +

  


On the way back home Foggy makes an extra stop. He stands outside the police station considering for a while, and eventually goes in to look for Brett. He should be on desk duty about now.

Foggy hovers next to Brett’s desk, uncertain of how proceed. Brett looks up with an expression of long-suffering patience. “One of you clients get arrested again?”

“No. Hi, Brett.” Foggy shuffles.

Brett keeps his tone flat. “Hi Nelson.” It’s still ‘Nelson’ at the station. Brett doesn’t want people knowing he’s hanging out with a defence attorney, after all. “What favour can I do for you today?”

“You say that like we aren’t besties who hang out all the time.” Foggy beams at him. 

Brett has trouble keeping his expression level. He clears his throat. “Spill.”

Foggy still hesitates. Brett’s expression changes to real concern. “What’s going on?”

He takes a deep breath. “Matt’s back.”

Brett’s eyes widen in surprise and then the look of concern comes back. Foggy interrupts him before he can say something shitty like ‘Are you sure?’.

“He showed up last night. We took him to the hospital because he was kind of banged up, and he doesn’t seem entirely well. But he’s back.” 

Brett gapes at him. Foggy can feel the inclination to freak out bubbling up in his chest again.

“Can you come and… I don’t know. Can you come and do cop stuff at him? Or just come in general. Please?”

He seems at a loss for a moment, but then Brett gathers himself. “OK. Lead the way.”

  


They walk in silence back to Foggy’s apartment. Brett keeps on giving him sidelong glances.

“Have you been following the news?”

“No.”

“It’s one hell of a coincidence. Do you think…”

“NO!”

  


\+ +

  


When they walk in Karen jumps up to greet them, keeping her voice low.  
“Hey guys.” She gives Brett a warm smile.

Brett doesn’t seem to miss that she’s wearing a pair of Foggy’s old sweats. She takes him by the arm and leads him over to the couch. Foggy follows. Matt’s still asleep, curled up on his side, looking unfairly adorable for a grown man.

Brett grunts in surprise and stares at him, before looking up to stare at Foggy. Foggy just shrugs. He whispers. “Where was he all this time?”

Foggy just shakes his head. “He was really freaked out when I found him. Haven’t really asked him anything.”

Brett is staring at Matt again. He nods to himself. “Right.”

Foggy drops the bag he brought for Matt with a thump. Matt startles awake and sits up. _Oops._ He frowns and tilted his head. Was he aware they were all staring at him? The situation just got weird.

Matt swipes a bandaged hand across his face. “Hey. What’s going on?”

“Umm, nothing. Brett’s here.”

Brett is still staring at Matt, looking uncomfortable. It occurs to Foggy that Brett has probably never seen him without his glasses before. Brett clears his throat. “Hey.”

“Hey Brett” Matt raises an arm as if to touch his face but drops it halfway.

Foggy roots around in the bag. “Oh, I got your glasses.” He taps them against the back of Matt’s hand.

He immediately puts them on and relaxes noticeably. “Thanks.” The change only slightly diminishes the awkwardness in the room. “So what’s going on?”

Brett switches to cop-mode. “I’m going to ask you a few questions, if that’s OK?”

Matt frowns and nods, after a moment.

“So what happened?” Brett doesn't mess around.

This just seems to confuse Matt. “What… what do you mean?”

“Where were you before you showed up at Foggy’s apartment?”

He opens his mouth and closes it again mutely. Frowns. “I don't …know.”

Brett looks up at Karen and Foggy before going on. “What’s the last thing you _do_ remember?”

“Last?” Matt shakes his head.

Foggy interjects. “Do you remember Helena?”

Matt tilts his head and Foggy just knows that his eyes are tracking as though looking for the answer. “She’s our client.” There’s just a hint of a question to his tone.

“ _Was_ our client.” 

“She was our client.” Matt echoes, talking slowly. “She died.”

“Yes, and then?”

Matt just shakes his head. “Why… why can’t I…?”

Brett starts up again. “So where were you before you came to Foggy’s?”

He just keeps shaking his head. Then softly, as though he is talking to himself. “I was scared.”

Foggy bites his lip. It won’t help if he started crying now. “ _Where_ , Matt?”

He doesn’t answer.

Brett tries again. “Where were you all this time?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember.” A thought seems to occur to him. “How long was I gone?”

No-one says anything. Matt looks even more lost.

“A couple of months.” Foggy is having trouble keeping his voice steady.

Matt shakes his head. “Sorry.” His voice is small.

Foggy hiccoughs. “Yeah. Don’t do that again.”

  


  



	6. Recovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s lovely and amazing the way people are telling me they like the way this story is going. You are all lovely and amazing. Just stresses me out a bit, because this chapter is going to be… significantly different. Enjoy?

Matt pokes at the gap in his memory like feeling for a lost tooth. He can remember everyday life. Going to the office, joking with Foggy. The growing frustration at Fisk’s presence like a dark shadow behind everything. Guilt over the secrets he was keeping. The underlying panic at having to scrabble desperately just to keep everything together – with Claire, with what he did in the mask, with Foggy, and Karen, and the firm. 

There’s nothing after that, just the nebulous feeling of having been in Foggy’s apartment for a while because… he wasn’t feeling well and Foggy was taking care of him? Because he was safe here? Vague flashes of fear and pain.

More than just flashes of pain. He’s still stiff and weak, his joints ache. His throat is hoarse and his head pounds. His stomach a constant cramped knot, getting worse whenever he tried to eat something. He has no idea what he did to his hands, why he is covered in scratches. Why he is exhausted _all the time._

He’s having trouble controlling his senses. Everything would be fine and then suddenly the world would start screaming at him. The scent of the apartment, of his own breath, so strong he can scarcely breathe. He can feel his skin pulling at the stitches and the movement of bone under his flesh and it was all nauseating.

And behind all of this, Foggy and Karen hovering over him, the air thick with the smell of nervous sweat from everything they aren’t saying. It all just made him long to run. But he can barely manage a couple of steps before he is completely drained.

They have both been making turns in going to the office, on and off. They never leave him alone. Even Brett is hovering over him and he barely knows the man. It seems like he and Foggy had become firm friends. Matt huffs to himself.

This morning is the first time both Foggy and Karen have gone in to the office. He reassured them that he was fine – that didn’t go over well – and sighed with relief when they were gone.

First things first. Maybe he’ll have more energy if he can actually manage to keep some food down. Which means doing something about the knot in his stomach. He can just manage to make out the printed text with his fingertips on the pill bottles in the bathroom cabinet. There is a purgative, but the plastic feels sticky – it’s been standing there for a while. It’s probably fine. He takes two with a glass of water. He really needs to fix his stomach, taste of fetid vomit was starting to become constant.

As for the rest – he goes back to the living room and stretches carefully. His joints creak in protest. Everything hurts. This was a sequence he’d normally barely even notice, but now his muscles were trembling after just a few moments. He drops onto the couch, already exhausted. This is nonsense. The mind controls the body. He tries to meditate but can’t concentrate. His hips and knees ache from sitting cross-legged and he is surrounded by the swirling smell of stale sweat. He could do better than this. He has to…

  


\+ +

  
Matt jerks awake when the phone rings.

“Hey buddy. Whatcha doing?” Foggy’s trying to sound upbeat and casual. As though he wasn’t calling to check up on him.

“I was sleeping.” He can’t keep the sharpness out of his voice.

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Matt takes a deep breath but he doesn’t know what to say. He has to stop snapping at Foggy for worrying about him. Of course he’s worried. He’d been missing for months and he can’t remember any of it. That’s definitely something worth worrying about. _He_ is worried. “…It was about time I got up.” Matt hauls himself upright and can’t help but grunt at his aching joints. The muscle stiffness seems slightly better. Maybe the stretching helped. Maybe it’s wishful thinking.

“OK… Uhm… Should I bring you something when I come home?”

“I’m fine.” That was objectively untrue. Foggy doesn’t call him on it.

“Sure. See you later.”

The background noise over the phone disappears. Absurdly he immediately wants to talk to Foggy again. He drops the phone on the table and feels around for the glass over water he knew had to be there somewhere. It takes too much concentration to force his wavering senses into telling him where the glass was. 

Instead of a glass he encounters his laptop. He paused and pulls it toward him. This might help. It’s relatively easy to queue up the news for the time he’s been away, and let the screen reader take care of it. 

He settles back in the couch and starts to work on focusing his senses. Listens in on conversations on the street below, and them tunes them out completely. Tries to categorise every smell coming out of the couch – that was a mistake – then tries to identify what each neighbour is having for lunch. During all of this the blocky voice keeps on reading headlines. Apparently Fisk had come into the open. It itches under his skin. He has to do something. He’s missed too much. How long will it take for him to bully his body back into a state that he’s capable of going out again? He’s too distracted to keep working on his senses. Matt slumps into the couch.

_”…Death of the Devil – Reign of Terror Over…”_

Matt freezes and doesn’t hear the next headline. Something about a hurricane. He doesn’t have to focus to block out what is said. His heartbeat hammers in his ears before he pauses the reader and goes back to the article. The body of a man in black clothing and a mask was found by fishermen. Police confirm it’s the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. The article goes on the describe his injur… _the_ injuries in gleeful detail.

He stops listening. There’s a sudden phantom pain in his right side, just under the rib cage. He presses his hand to his side and is surprised that it doesn’t come away covered in blood. A flash of shock and fire echoes in the back of his mind.

Anyone can wear a black mask. It doesn’t prove anything. He’s having trouble breathing. This was completely ridiculous. It’s not possible. He is shaking - somehow he knows he’s fooling himself. He reaches the bathroom just in time, but all he has to throw up were the pills he’d taken earlier. The tiles are blissfully cool against his skin and his throat burns. There’s a glass of water in the living room but that is impossibly far away.

Matt hauls himself to his feet before he falls asleep on the bathroom floor and cautiously goes back to sit down on the couch. Everything hurts. If Foggy were here he’d make some wisecrack and they’d watch a movie with his bizarre descriptions which he’d assure him were accurate, and everything would be fine. 

No, if Foggy were here he’d hover over him and worry and refuse to say what he was worried about. Matt wipes his bandaged hand over his face but it does nothing for the haze in his head. He starts listening to the reader again instead.

By the time he’s caught up with the news he knows what’s happened. He’s not the only one who came back. The symptoms all match. First panic and disorientation – according to Foggy anyway, he doesn’t remember that. Trouble with memory, getting better with time. Stiffness, sore joints. Exhaustion. Stomach problems.

When it first started happening the news didn’t seem to take it seriously. Just some mention of fantastical rumours. Then sheer breathless wonder as it was confirmed – people really were coming back from the dead. And then paranoia. Will it stop? It did. Why _these_ people? What does it mean? What do they want? Were they _safe_?

There are lists of names of the returned. He isn’t on them. Because he hadn’t been officially dead. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen was dead. He’d just been… missing. No-one knew he was dead, had been dead, apart from…

Matt jerks to his feet. He has to get out of here. The apartment is suffocating and his has to talk to someone. He can vividly imagine the cool air inside the church, infused with incense and aged wood polish and smoke. He fumbles for his cane and glasses and heads for the door.

 

He leans against the wall in the elevator, lost in the grinding noise of the mechanism and the rush of increasing air pressure as he descends. The air is cold and damp when the doors open – it’s the basement. He feels for the next button and when the doors open again the bustle tells him he’s at the right level. He steps outside. The commotion is disorienting, but it doesn’t matter, he can rely on his cane. He’s breathing heavily by the end of the block. The church isn’t far, and he doesn’t have money for a cab anyway. He takes the next block so he can cross at the traffic lights – he doesn't have the focus to figure out when the road is clear at the moment. His legs are starting to tremble. Surely the pedestrian crossing was here. Or is it the next block? His head throbs. He can smell blood and metal and spices, and old paper and ink. A butchery and a newspaper vender. That wasn’t supposed to be here. Or was it new? There’s a pain in his side and he can’t tell if it’s a memory of being stabbed or just exertion. His breath is coming in gulps. He stumbles over a loose tile in the sidewalk. Or the curb? It’s all noise and chaos and he has no idea where he is. Matt takes a couple of steps away from the rush of traffic until he collides with a wall and shelters there, just for a moment.

“… call someone? Sir?”

Someone shoves him. No. Someone catches him by the arm to keep him from tipping over. His legs are trembling and he’s sweating and someone is trying to talk to him. He ignores it.

“I’m fine. I just need to rest for a moment.” He closes his eyes.

“…OK.” 

The hand doesn’t leave his arm. It’s a young man. Soft hands, gentle voice. Matt wants to snap at him to go be agreeable at someone else. He can’t find the breath to talk. What was closer? The church, or Foggy’s apartment? If he made it to the church, how would he get back? He couldn’t call Foggy. He didn’t bring his phone. Dead people don’t have phones. He fights back a sob. Besides, he doesn’t want Foggy to know he got lost. How long has he been clinging to the wall and hyperventilating?

He’s still trembling, and there’s still a warm hand on his arm. “Mister? Would you like me to help you get home?” The voice sounds hopeful.

Matt grits his teeth. “Yes. Please.”

He gives the kid Foggy’s address and he leads him there. ‘Leads’ is generous. He is exhausted, he can barely keep his legs moving. The kid’s probably going to have a bruise on his arm where he’s hanging on to him, but he might collapse if he let go. The only thing burning more than the muscles in his legs is his humiliation. A walk. He can’t even go for a _walk_. Or find his way back to Foggy’s without help.

The doors to the apartment building open, and when they close behind them the calm around him is almost startling. He can suddenly hear the kid's heartbeat. Too fast. Worried. Ugh. Even strangers were worrying about him. He feels disgustingly weak.

“I…Thank you. I haven’t been feeling well. Guess I shouldn’t have gone out.” It’s fine, I’m fine, everything’s fine. Please go away.

“Sure, that can happen.” The kid sounds perfectly reasonable. It’s enraging.

He feels for the elevator button and can hear the rumbling start deeper in the building when he presses it. 

“Do you need me to help you inside?”

“No, that’s OK.” The last thing he needs is for Foggy to find out he had to be helped home.

“OK. Take care.”

“Yeah, thanks. Thank you.” The kid walks off calmly as the elevator doors open. He’d handled this with far more grace than he had. 

The cool calm in the elevator is soothing. His legs are shaking and he’s drenched in sweat, but he’s almost back. Then he can just sit down and go to sleep. He carefully counts the floors as he rises. It would be a disaster to get lost in the building. When the doors open he has to hang on the wall to walk. Both to keep upright and because he apparently lost his cane at some point. He counts the doors and stops at Foggy’s apartment, leans against the door. There are two rapid heartbeats inside. Worried. Afraid even. _Shit._ He’d lost track of time. He pauses to get his breath back – a lost cause. He wipes the sweat of his face with his shirt. His hair is soaked. Hopefully it’s not too noticeable. Matt takes a deep breath, stands as upright as he can, and opens the door.

Both Foggy and Karen freeze when they hear the door opening. He can make it to the couch. Just walk normally. The hammering of his own heartbeat almost drowns out theirs. He has to lean on the back of the couch for balance, but he makes it there. He keeps his breathing slow and controlled. There’s a ringing in his ears. He’s going to pass out if he doesn’t get some more air quickly. It’s less a sigh and more a desperate gasp for oxygen when he finally gets to sit down. His heartbeat throbs in his temples. 

Foggy’s heart is almost as fast as his own. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Excuse me?” He can barely keep his head from drooping, but anger is always easy enough to reach.

“Where did you go?”

“I went for a walk. Is that allowed?”

“A walk.” There’s flat disbelief in Foggy’s voice. “Where’s your cane?”

“I lost it.”

“You lost it?”

“Yes.”

He still hasn’t gotten his breath back. Matt closes his eyes behind his glasses. No. He’ll fall asleep if he does that. They aren’t done. He clenches and unclenches his jaw.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He is furious but his voice cracks despite his best efforts.

This stops Foggy in his tracks. “Tell you what?”

“Oh come on. I read the news. I was…” He can’t bring himself to say it.

“I… that’s… We couldn’t be sure that's what it was. I was freaked out.”

“ _You_ were freaked out?!”

“Yes!” Foggy’s close to tears. “We didn’t know what happened to you. It might not be…”

“Bullshit. All the symptoms fit.”

“… and I didn’t want to scare you when we weren’t even sure. Not until you were feeling better, anyway.”

“ _That_ worked out well.” He scoffed. 

“They were talking about all kinds of freaky stuff in the news and I didn’t know…”

“Don’t worry, I’ll warn you if I start craving brains.” They can definitely hear the bitterness in his voice. A shocked silence follows.

“Matt…” Foggy doesn’t seem to know what to say. He doesn’t, either.

He can’t seem to keep his chin from shaking. He’d love to storm off before he loses composure completely, but he can’t get to his feet. Besides, where would he go? He crosses his arms. “I want to get some sleep.”

Foggy doesn’t reply for a while. He and Karen are probably giving each other worried looks. 

“Sure. We’ll leave you alone.” They start to leave.

“Bye, Matt.” Karen’s voice is desperately sad. Guilt twists in his gut.

He curls up on the couch, but for all his exhaustion it takes a while before he falls asleep.

  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Matt’s kind of being an ass. In his defence though, he is stressed and traumatised and not feeling well. And I’m pretty sure that it’s cannon that getting fussed over annoys him.
> 
>  
> 
> While I was writing the scene where Malcolm helps Matt back (that’s totally Malcolm, by the way) I was thinking how I could add a nice scene when Matt’s at… and he … and then he meets Malcolm as Daredevil and realised he’s the one who helped him. And then I realised that was a different story in a different AU and wasn’t going to happen. I’ve got to keep these things straight.


	7. Truce

It the middle of the night when he wakes up. The streets are quiet and Foggy is fast asleep, snuffling faintly. This late he’d usually be out now. There’s a prickling under his skin He wants that exhilaration. To feel cool night air and the crunch of bone under his fists. Matt tries to shake it off. That wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. He listens to the happy cadence of Foggy’s heart instead, and vaguely wonders what woke him up. His stomach gurgles again and he barely makes it to the bathroom in time.  
  
Seems like the pills worked after all. At least now his digestive system was working in the right direction. He’s profoundly grateful that Foggy’s asleep right now. It takes a while and when he’s done he feels depleted and wrung out and a little light-headed, but the knot in his stomach has dissolved. Matt finds an over-ripe apple in the kitchen, and daringly eats both that and a cup of yogurt before going back to sleep.

  
\+ +  
  


He wakes up to the sound of Foggy rummaging around in his room. Based on the increase in the smell of stale sweat he just opened the laundry basket. He hears him sniff at something. Matt grins to himself.  
  
He puts on coffee and it’s almost done by the time Foggy emerges from his bedroom – he must have been stalling. He notices the exact moment Foggy sees him in the kitchen. There is a sharp inhale, a momentary increase in the pitter of his heart, a slight rise in body temperature. Surprise, some discomfort?  
  
Matt clears his throat. “Coffee?”  
  
Foggy pauses awkwardly. “Thanks.” He rummages in the fridge. “You having coffee too?”  
  
“Don’t think my stomach can stand it.” He deposits two mugs, coffee and tea, on the kitchen counter. Matt has to brush past Foggy to get milk from the fridge. The smell of Foggy, graze of his clothing, the sound of his heartbeat, are all familiar and comfortable. On the other hand… He reaches out to grasp Foggy by the upper arm.  
  
“Have you lost weight?”  
  
Foggy shrugs awkwardly, shaking his arm free. “I guess.”  
  
Matt frowns, unsettled at the change.  
  
There’s an uneasy silence between them as Foggy has breakfast. Matt chews cautiously on piece of dry toast. He’s very aware of Foggy watching him.  
  
“So you’re feeling a bit better?”  
  
He shrugs.  
  
“Maybe it needed a while for, you know, all systems to get online properly. Maybe you’ll be fine.”  
  
Is that Foggy reassuring himself, or trying to reassure him? Is it an olive branch of sorts?  
  
“Yeah, maybe.”  
  
There’s a pause and he can tell Foggy hoped for something more from him. The silence stretches.  
  
“Right. I’m going to the office. See you tonight.”  
  
Of course he’s going. He has work to do. Matt tamps down on the inclination to ask him to stay. It feels like it would be better to spend the day with Foggy than to spend it trapped in his own head with nowhere to go, but things with Foggy were awkward now, too. It wouldn’t help. He turns to Foggy and tries for a smile.  
  
“Bye.”  
  


\+ +  
  


He moves through a kata, slowly and very carefully. It should feel familiar, he should be able to do it without thinking, but every movement is alien and uncomfortable. His aching joints protest – he’ll probably pull something if he tries to do it more quickly.

Matt pauses, just for a moment, to catch his breath, and then runs the kata again. By the third time he’s dripping sweat and still moving slowly, but the movements are comfortable. His muscles are tired, but they don’t ache. Maybe Foggy was right. Everything just took a while to get started again. He can move smoothly now – no more zombie shuffling. His stomach is steadily sorting itself. He doesn’t have any memory problems any more. As far as he can tell, anyway. Even his suddenly weirdly disgusting breath seems to be gone. Maybe this really is just a straightforward second chance.

Once in the shower he tips his head back and just focusses on the rush of water in his face, running down his body. This is one of the easiest ways to block the world out. Just let in the rush of water and sensation. _All systems needed to get started again._

Matt starts jerking off disinterestedly. If he wants to know if things work, he needs to check. He can still get hard easily enough, even if he isn’t really in the mood for this. He speeds up, and doubles over when he comes. It hurts, it smells wrong. Matt leans against the wall for a moment to get his breath back, feeling disgusted with himself. OK, so maybe this was something that took a while to get back online.

He washes thoroughly, cleans the shower, and finally collapses back onto the couch in Foggy’s favourite hoody to take a nap.  


  


\+ +

  
  


Matt feels fine when he wakes up. He isn’t tired, his joints aren’t sore, he isn’t stiff.

He doesn’t quite trust this truce with his body. The unfamiliar ache in his stomach isn’t nausea, it’s _hunger_. Will the wonders never cease.

He raids Foggy kitchen. What can he try that might stay down? Soup is probably a good idea. There isn’t really enough fresh ingredients to make soup from scratch, and that’s too much work anyway. There are cans, though. He feels around until he finds a can that sloshes instead of feeling solid. When opened it turns out to be chicken soup. Perfect.

He manages to eat most of the can of tepid soup. His stomach gurgles alarmingly, but it stays down.

The rest if the day he just lounges around the apartment. Everything seems to be getting better, his energy levels are up, but he’s still too weak to do anything. He’s bored and restless.

The fragrance of Foggy’s shampoo drifts up from the lobby. He’s carrying something. Heartbeat slightly elevated. Exertion from his walk, or anxiety? Matt consciously relaxes into the couch and focusses on Foggy’s breathing. Slow and steady – it’s not exertion. He listens to the brush of his clothing as he walks and the slight murmur as he talks to himself under his breath. Foggy is stressed just to be coming home because there’s a grouchy zombie sitting on his couch snapping at him at the slightest provocation. He deserves better than that. Matt resolves to be pleasant and non-confrontational. He doesn’t get to take that frantic flailing that keeps on trying to float to the surface out on Foggy.

Foggy comes into the apartment bags of with groceries and a busy bustle to disguise his anxiety.

“So I noticed you actually ate some breakfast this morning. Go you! Uhm… So I figured I could make something really bland and boring and healthy and we’ll see if that stays down.” His voice peters out hopefully.

 _Great. More fussing._ No. A worried friend trying to help you. Behave, Murdock. He tries to sound upbeat. “Sounds good. Can I help you with that?”

“You can peel and chop the carrots and… I dunno… do to the broccoli whatever people do to broccoli.”

Matt nods, smiling pleasantly. He’s going to pretend he can’t hear the relief in Foggy’s voice. Did he really expect him to respond badly to that? _You almost did._

He hears the tap as Foggy lays down a knife. “On your left.”

The tension leaches from the room as they both get companionably to work. He has to hold the knife awkwardly because of the bandages on his hand. Something sizzles appealingly. Matt sniffs. “What’s that?”

“Ostrich steak.”

“Seriously?”

“I’ve been assured that it’s really healthy.”

It’s also probably really expensive. Matt feels another squirm of irritation and tries to smooth it down. “Smells good.”

Dinner could have gone worse. They make polite conversation like people who barely know each other. Maybe this will get better with time as well. Matt eats as much as he dares and Foggy pushes the carrots around in his plate. He tries not to wince at the sound of metal scraping on porcelain.  
  
Foggy puts the fork down and clears his throat awkwardly. “There’s… They’ve been saying on the radio that some of the people who… some of them are starting to remember what happened to them.”  
  
Don’t get angry. Don’t get defensive. He sits back in the chair. “We don’t know for sure that I…” He presses his hand against his side. There’s no blood. “… that I was…” He considers taking another bite to play for time but he probably shouldn’t eat anymore. Foggy doesn’t speak. “I don’t remember anything.” Well, not details. But he certainly got killed in the mask, which brings its own set of problems.  
  
“But you’re feeling better?” Foggy’s tone of voice is doubtful. “You seem better.”  
  
“I _do_ feel better. Maybe not all the way there yet. But systems are coming back online.” He tries for a grin. He can’t tell if Foggy smiles back.

  


\+ +  
  


The next morning Foggy has already left for the office but the time Matt wakes up, but he has a plan. Act normal. It’ll get everyone off his case, and once they’re behaving normally he can maybe start feeling normal and everything will be fine. He’s fine.

He shuffles around the apartment tidying up aimlessly before rummaging in the bag Foggy brought him There has to be something to wear other than sweatpants.

Walking down to the office goes better than he’d expected. It’s still tiring, but his sense are back in order. He can hear conversations in cars are they roar by, pick out individual ingredients in meals from the homes and food stalls he passes. In apartments washing machines rumble and dogs bark and countless TVs play countless shows and he can pick it all apart if he has to.

Outside the office he pauses for a moment to catch his breath. The broken finger and stitches in his back ache faintly in the throb of his heartbeat. Foggy is talking to someone, a client, and he can hear the soft scritching of a pencil as Karen takes notes. Her hair slides silky smooth and cool over her back and Foggy laughs and puts their client at ease and the office feels like home. Matt takes a deep breath and goes inside.

The peace shatters when they see him.

Karen gasps and her pulse flutters for a moment before she jump to her feet and. “Matt!” She heads over to him.

He can hear the smile it her voice. It sounds forced. “What are you doing here? I mean…”

Foggy excuses himself to the client and goes to join them.

It’s difficult to hold on to the feeling of happy home he’d had a moment ago. He keeps his tone light. “Thought I’d join you for lunch. Looks like I’m a little early.”

Foggy’s brightness is real. “Great idea. Who doesn't like lunch? I like lunch.”

The momentary tenseness dissolves. Of course Foggy would save them.

Foggy gestures at the client. “Let us just finish up here and we’ll go get something.”

They go back to the conference room. Matt half-listens to the conversation while wandering around the office. The kitchenette wasn’t stacked with various foods, which could only mean they were getting paid in actual money. Foggy was doing well. Matt smiles to himself as he trails his fingers on the wall on the way to _his_ office. It’s cluttered.

Foggy calls out to him. “There are boxes stacked everywhere, buddy. Try not to break your neck.”

Matt tilts a smile in his directing before going in. Vaguely he can hear the conversation in the conference room.

“… why do you have to tell him about the boxes? Any idiot can see the boxes. Are you afraid of getting sued?”

“He _can’t_ see the boxes. That’s kind of the point.” Matt can vividly hear Foggy leaving out the ‘…you idiot.’ at the end of that sentence for the sake of professionalism. He bites down a grin and taps at a stack of boxes with his cane. A faint sheen of dust hung over everything, muffling the corners to his hearing. They’d been using his office for a storage room. It gave him a strange twinge. _What, were they supposed to treat it like a shine?_

A tension brings his focus back to the conversation in the conference room. A flush of adrenaline. The client’s heartrate is up. The guy is lying about something. If he were in the meeting he would push him, but…

“Are you sure about that, Mr Rasmussen?” Foggy’s voice is mild but Matt knows him well enough to feel the steel underneath. Foggy can read people. He doesn’t neem _him_ to point out when something shady is going on. He doesn’t need him at all.

Matt tunes out the discussion. He shouldn’t be listening in the first place.

He can’t quite bring himself to wait in the dusty chair behind his desk like a ghost. He goes to sit in the waiting area instead. Just like any other visitor.

It doesn’t take long for Karen and Foggy to join him. They head down to the coffee shop down the street, curtesy of Foggy’s need for doughnuts.

Foggy natters at him happily. “This place is great! You have to try it, Matt. They’re perfect. You know that scene in Breakfast at Tiffany’s….”

He has his hand on Foggy’s arm, his cane folded in so Karen can walk close beside him. Foggy’s heartbeat is slow and happy – he can feel the warmth it through the thin fabric of his suit.

“It seems like things are going well at the office.” There’s a strange pressure on his heart.

Foggy gently bumps into him. “You don’t even sound surprised.” He’s teasing, but there’s something underneath.

“Of course I’m not surprised. I chose to start a firm with _you_ for a reason--”

Foggy huffs at him fondly. “My good looks and fashion sense?”

“--and you’ve got Karen to actually keep the place running.”

He can almost feel Karen’s smile and Foggy gives a faux-sober nod that he doesn’t bother to narrate. “True.” And then more brightly. “So not my fashion sense, then?”

He smiles at Foggy. “Well, yes. Although perhaps I’m not the best judge.”

Karen’s dress swishes as she turns to talk to him. “I’ll have you know he _almost always_ wears matching socks.”

“That was _one time_. I was in a hurry.” Foggy’s trying to sound affronted but he’s laughing.

Matt wonders when this happened. It doesn’t matter, though. Things are good. Karen and Foggy are joking with each other. He wishes they could walk a little more slowly. He’s getting out of breath.

Karen laughs. “How do _you_ never have mismatched socks?”

Matt breathes quietly to slow his racing heart and tries to match her light tone. “I have all the same socks. Apart from that time in third year when Foggy bought a couple of pairs of what were apparently My Little Pony socks and randomly mixed them with mine.”

Foggy pokes him in the ribs. “That was supposed to be a hilarious prank, Mr Stick-in-the-mud.”

“You should have checked whether they have the same texture.”

“ _That’s_ how you knew?” He laughs. “I’m not willing to feel up your socks for the sake of a prank… Although, it’s probably a good thing. If you _had_ gone out with neon mismatched socks I would probably have ended up feeling like an asshole and told you about it out of guilt before we got to class and then we’d have to turn around and—“

Matt raised his eyebrows innocently. “You mean like that time with the ‘special-gift’ tie?”

“You knew about that! You sly bastard! I felt like such a mean jerk.”

Karen’s been looking at the two of them with increasing amusement. “OK. I have to get the story behind that.”

Foggy starts telling her the story, complete with extravagant gestures. The two of them carry the conversation and Matt breathes in relief. This way his can focus on getting his breathing and heartrate back under control. Maybe the walk wasn’t such a good idea.

Thankfully the coffee shop isn’t too far away and they settle in there easily enough. The Karen and Foggy clearly come here often. Foggy motions over a waiter. “Do you have a Braille menu?”

Matt can feel the waiter’s flush of embarrassment. “Uhm. No, sorry.”

For a moment Foggy flushes too. It’s not something he’s had reason to consider lately. “Never mind. I’ll read it to you.”

 _They were going to be there all day if he started that up._ Matt stretches out his fingertips to Foggy’s wrist. “Just pick something. You know what I like.”

Foggy pages in the menu. His heartrate picks up and he inhales, steeling himself for something. Matt listens suspiciously.

“So still not brains, then?”

Karen puts her glass down too sharply, “ _Foggy!_ ” but Matt has already started laughing.

“You two are terrible,” but Karen’s laughing too.

Matt runs a rueful hand through his hair. “I _did_ say I’d warn you.” They laugh and everything’s good and they’re fine. But he feels the strain. Foggy had been nervous about that wisecrack. He’d felt his wash of relief when he’d started laughing instead of snapping at him.

Foggy doesn’t seem to notice the tension. “You think _that’s_ terrible. Matt, you gotta hear about when Karen pool-sharked Brett. He was so pissed--”

Karen drums her fingers on the table top. “Not that story again. It’s really not as funny as you seem to think.” Matt can still hear the smile in her voice all the same.

Foggy enthusiastically launches into the story of what was clearly a happy memory for the both of them. Matt finds himself having to force a smile. He is stressed and tired and nauseous. His legs twinge from the exertion of the walk and all of Foggy’s stories of how happy the two of them had been without him just make him absurdly dejected. It’s selfish and petty and _ridiculous_.

He’s relieved when lunch is over.  


  
\+ +  
  


He can’t breathe.

He can’t breathe. There a pain in his side so sharp that it wraps around his ribs and _pulls_ and squeezes and he can’t breathe. A pair of large, powerful hands close around his neck in rage and he can’t breathe. He’s in pain, so much pain, and there’s water pouring down his throat and he can’t get away and he can’t get to the surface and he can’t breathe.

Then something changes. He’s trapped. He can’t move and there’s not enough air and he can’t breathe and it _smells_ of corruption and decay and he can’t breathe and there’s dirt and soil and too much weight on his chest and he can’t breathe and he can’t breathe and…

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going somewhere, I swear. I started this story because I wanted to write the scene of Foggy finding the newly resurrected Matt, and now that it’s over I’m neglecting this and I have _so many ideas_ for another more fun story I’ve just started. Gotta finish this first.
> 
> If all goes according to plan there are 3 chapters left. FoggyPOV, BrettPOV, and then Foggy again.
> 
>  
> 
> Re: The discussion about prank gifts and ties. Somewhere out there is a college-era fic in which Foggy gives Matt a funny tie and Matt acts all sincerely thankfull and Foggy can't bring himself to tell him it's a gag gift and Matt ends up wearing it to an important do of some sort. Was looking for it to reference for this chapter but I couldn't find it again.


End file.
